


I'm Addicted (To Your Chocolate High)

by dormant_bender



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Chocolate, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Cooking Lessons, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, FC Barcelona, Fluff and Smut, Language Kink, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:50:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dormant_bender/pseuds/dormant_bender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Marc is aware of Rafinha's blatant love for brigadeiros, and uses it to his advantage.</p><p>Or: even adults stop to play when it has chocolate involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Addicted (To Your Chocolate High)

**Author's Note:**

> God bless Google Translate, with that said: some of the translations are wrong and I'm sorry :3 
> 
> I still love you long time for reading, though :3 <3

There the blond is poised over the oven with a saucepan resting upon the stove, the milky brown substance glimmering beneath the soft gleam of the stove-light. He has a wooden spoon in his clutches and is currently stirring the mixture of butter, milk, and cocoa, the scent nearly intoxicating as he breathes it in.

Cooking was one of his more closeted hobbies, something that deviated entirely from his expertise at being a keeper for Barcelona. When he was little he would trail after his mother in the kitchen, eyes curiously peering over her movements, as she cooked up his favorite meals. Eventually she had caught onto his intrigue, much like mothers do, and asked for assistance once day.

Since then he had been preparing his own dishes and cooking for a small, select group of friends who were more than eager to devour whatever meal he had decided to make that weekend. But with cooking came constructive criticism: " _too much salt_ ," or " _not enough paprika_ ," he would hear every so often, not that it deterred the German.

Just improved his work ethic.

So there he is moving his wrist around in circular motions, glancing up at the timer he had set on the stove, and smiling contently to himself. The delicacy was something he had never attempted before and had only recently gained knowledge of. Blame Neymar for that, the bubbly male snatching up a tray of the tasty treats and thrusting them at whoever was closest, offering a playful wink as he went.

Of course, he also had a separate interest in the treat, for one Brazilian in particular had an amusing response. Full lips wrapped around the tiny, chocolate ball and his equally as mocha eyes flutter to a blissful close, the sound that emanates from his lips indecent and barely legal. Lips stained with chocolate distracted him for the next few minutes until his tongue made an appearance to swipe along his lower lip, those chocolate eyes locking with his for a moment, before he turns and strolls down the corridor.

Just the thought itself brings a shiver down his spine as he momentarily stops the stirring in favor of dipping a finger in the mixture. Cerulean eyes squint at his coated finger, the contrast stark between his skin and the chocolate—reminding him of the brunet who had mysteriously disappeared after practice—was somewhat mesmerizing. 

He wraps his lips around the digit and releases a soft sigh a moment later, smiling in satisfaction as he reverts to seemingly aimless stirring. That is, until he hears the sound of the lock clicking, followed by the faint creak of the door hinges. Brows furrow slightly and he glances toward the front door curiously, then snorting when he sees the brunet.

"How did you even get in here?" Marc inquires with a quirk of his brow as he continues the clockwise motion of his hand.

Rafinha only shrugs a halfhearted shoulder and wiggles the key between his fingers around. "I got a key made when you were asleep, you're a pretty heavy sleeper. Did you know that? Could sleep through Ney's singing, and I envy you for that." Murmurs the male as he tosses the key halfheartedly onto the coffee table, making his way toward the kitchen, inhaling sharply.

"And here I thought you had mastered breaking and entering," scolds the blond with a roll of his eyes as he focuses his attention back on the task at hand. "I should probably be surprised by you taking advantage of me sleeping, but I'm not."

"It's all about the tumblers, Marquinho." Coos the brunet as he wraps his arms around the latter's waist, too short to place his head upon his shoulder. Instead he just hugs him, nuzzling his cheek into his taut back. "I wouldn't have had to if you had just made me one, I'm a pretty frequent visitor, yes?"

Marc glances over his shoulder to stare down at the man before smiling affectionately, "Sorry. I honestly didn't know you wanted one."

The Brazilian replies with a scoff, as if the information was more than obvious, then glances around Marc's body to peer into the pan. Amused snickers spew from his lips then as he withdraws from the embrace, lips quirking downward at the lack of warmth against his frame, to plop onto the smooth counter-top. Slender fingers dip into the mix and he places the two digits into his mouth, sighing around them as he sucks at the chocolate.

"Look at you, another cooking conquest." It's all affectionate as he wipes his fingers off on his shorts, "This time you're making brigadeiros, huh? Who's idea was this? Did Adriano put you up to this? Aquele bastardo. **(1)** " Cerulean eyes glance at him and he quirks an inquisitive brow: "They're my favorite, though minha avózinha's **(2)** will forever be unrivaled."

All the German manages to do is fluster and flush a pale shade of pink as he startles with the beeping of the stove. He reaches for the handle and transports it to the left side of the counter that is free and unoccupied by the footballer. Marc, unusually bashful, just shrugs a shoulder as he searches for the assorted sprinkles and such he had bought for the tiny balls.

"I just noticed you liked them, that's all. No one put me up to it.. Though I wish someone would have told me sooner, especially with how much you seem to love them." 

A mocking ' _aww_ ' fills the air and the brunet makes kissy faces in the blond's direction, snickering to himself as he swings his legs back and forth. "I appreciate the effort, Marquinho, honest."

He braces himself against the counter then as he shifts his head in the latter's direction: "You're gonna tell everyone on the team about this, aren't you?"

"Merda! **(3)** You know me so well." Rafinha sends a teasing smile but then he shakes his head. "This is only for me to know about, can't give the guys any ideas. I've seen how Munir looks at you. If he knew you were a master chef, surely he would steal you away."

Thoughtfulness passes over the blond's countenance as he stares at the brunet. "Do you really believe that?"

"Have you seen his eyes? That merdinha **(4)** could woo a blind man.. Or woman? I think he kicks for both sides of the field." 

"Rafa.. I don't care about the other side of the field, I only care about our side." 

Another chuckle spews from between full lips, though the faint flush of his cheeks turn his skin russet. "You always have a way with words." As teasing as it sounds, it's sincere, Marc knows. 

Pointed teeth make an appearance as he offers a chuckle of his own as he snatches up multi-colored muffin cups. "I only want you to score with me, verstehen? **(5)** "

Another snort echoes from the brunet as he hops off the counter to cross the short distance to Marc, shoving him out of the way. "Stop while you're ahead, meu amor. **(6)** "

And with that the two settle into a comfortable, companion silence as they slick their hands with margarine before handling the cooled chocolate. Rafinha rolls his eyes when he notices the terrible spheres Marc was creating, scolding him quietly in Portuguese, before reaching for his hands in an attempt to help the lad master the art of making the perfect brigadeiro.

Because brigadeiros weren't brigadeiros if they didn't hold the shape of a circle.

"You should be better with your hands, Ter." Chastises Rafa as he places his hands over Marc's, teaching him to cup his hands slightly as he rubs his palms together, smugly smirking when it reached the desired result: "Like that, yeah? Then just roll them around in the sprinkles there, easier that way."

Marc grunts in response and follows the aided demonstration as he molds another circle, still not what Rafael deemed 'perfect,' but enough to gain a supportive wink. The two work together in silence as they mold the still slightly-warm chocolate until most of it is gone and the brigadeiros are tucked securely into their respective cups. 

"We should probably put these in the fridge," hums the Brasileiro as he rubs his palms together.

Before the blond can respond, however, his arms and face are being assaulted by sticky hands. He makes noise of disdain as he retaliates, mussing up the latter's neatly styled hair, earning a growl in response. And so like that, the battle began. Hand prints were on every single inch of clothing and exposed bare skin when the two are finished, hands completely brown and the saccharine scent of chocolate filling the air around them.

Rafinha smears his palm against his lips unconsciously, tinting them the deep cocoa color. Oceanic eyes notice the sight and he's quick to spring on the brunet, meshing their lips together, his tongue darting out to glide along the latter's lower lip. The sweet taste is almost as intoxicating as Rafinha himself and he backs him against the chocolate-covered counter without a second thought.

And he plays along with the show of dominance as he allows Marc to control the kiss, using his palms to press against the counter-top until he's seated on the very edge. Thighs are quick to wrap around his waist, tugging him impossibly close against his hips, while his lips continue their eager movements. Teeth clash noisily and the brunet laughs into the kiss in response to the action, feeling the latter's pointed teeth sink into his lower lip.

"Fere tão bom.. **(7)** " 

Is the heady whisper that emanates from the lad as he works at the loose shirt the blond is wearing, tugging it up and over his head, only breaking the kiss for a mere second before their lips are reconnected. Chocolate-covered hands ghost along the outline of his abs, nails bluntly scraping across the smooth skin there. They travel higher to glide along his rosy nipples, offering them a firm pinch, which results in a grunt and thrust of hips from Marc who withdraws from the kiss in favor of burying his face in Rafa's neck.

Of course he repeats the action once more, earning an enthralled gasp from the man, before continuing on his journey. Fingers travel to the back of his neck, tugging gently at the wispy hairs at his nape, until his head is jerked backwards to expose the milky expanse of skin at the column of his throat.

"Rafael.." 

"Seja bom, gatinho. **(8)** "

Teeth are abruptly assaulting the smooth, clear skin upon Marc's neck, nipping anxiously at the unblemished skin there. He nips gingerly at his Adam's Apple before placing a chaste kiss there, lips leaving butterfly kisses in their wake as he sucks earnestly at where his pulse is strongest.

"No marks—"

One of his idle hands, however, is quick to silence the lad mid-sentence. "Shh, you're mine. It's okay.. Tudo meu. Deixe-me mostrá-lo.. **(9)** " He palms the man through his jeans and it's enough to leave Marc silent, forehead pressing against Rafa's shoulder.

He resumes his artwork until there is a dark, purple color staining his otherwise pristine skin. He smirks smugly at his handiwork before moving further down his throat toward his collar bone, sucking another mark there, though he soothes this one with his tongue. Then he's thrusting the man's head forward until once more they're engaged in a kiss, his nimble fingers tugging the latter's zipper down, reaching inside the opening it creates to offer his exposed cock a warm squeeze.

Marc moans into the kiss, the vibrations making the brunet shudder, as he works at the button and tugs the garment from his hips until they pool at his thighs. The blond spreads his thighs apart to better accommodate the hand that wraps firmly around his cock, the pad of his thumb brushing teasingly over the slit.

"Can't take the teasing," murmurs the German with a grunt as he thrusts into the latter's fist, desperate for more friction.

Rafinha only clicks his tongue in response as he uses his idle hand to slide into his own shorts and beneath his briefs, stroking himself in time with the German. Breathy sighs echo from his full lips as he presses his forehead against the latter's, his eyes clenching tightly shut as he focuses on the movements of his wrists. 

He barely registers the kiss pressed to the tip of his nose but feels the soft tickle of the latter's breath against his face. Smells sweet yet faintly like peppermint, presumably his toothpaste, and he finds himself smiling to himself at the familiar scent. His own hips buck into his fist and Marc echoes the movement with his own weak thrust.

When Rafinha opens his eyes, he doesn't expect to see the latter's gaze trained downward at this hand movements, but it makes him squirm nonetheless. He takes a moment to study the expressions flickering across his countenance; mouth reddened and abused with kisses, slightly parted, while his cerulean hues are clouded with lust and having him losing rhythm and momentum with the twists of his wrist.

"Olhe para mim, **(10)** please." His words are broken and a mixture of both Spanish and Portuguese as he swallows deeply, breathing becoming shallow, chest heaving. "Schau? **(11)** " That captures his attention then and Marc is gazing deeply into his eyes and, fuck, it's intense and his hips stutter as he twists his wrist on the upstroke and his heart rate is increasing and—Had his eyes always been that particular shade of blue and that fervent when they stared at him, seemingly through his soul and then some.

It doesn't take but a moment longer before he goes tense and spills within his hand, spurts coating his fingers. He almost chokes on a mewl as he shudders against the counter, hips moving sporadically as he thrusts within his hand. Dark eyes, hazy and unfocused, attempt to remain open to stare into those seemingly endless depths of ocean but he fails miserably as he withdraws his hand from his brief in favor of stroking the blond with both hands instead of the one.

"Rafael.. Quase lá... **(12)** " He manages to choke out in barely comprehensible Portuguese as he rocks his hips into the awaiting fists that tightens around his cock ever so slightly, one hand stroking his shaft while the other occupies itself with weakly squeezing the head, until he just can't handle it anymore.

Needless to say he was overwhelmed as those eyes finally open to stare back at him, and his orgasm hits with force as he's temporarily blinded by flashes of white in his vision. One of his hands grips vigorously at the counter-top while the other grips at one of Rafa's thighs, moans spewing from his mouth along with vulgar German. 

Soon he comes down from his high and presses more into the warm contours of Rafinha's body, pressing tender kisses against any inch of exposed skin he could find. The Brazilian shifts into a more comfortable position and winds his arms around the back of Marc's broad chest, fingers absently stroking the still-tense muscle of his shoulder blades.

"Ter?"

"Hm?"

Rafinha nods his head in the direction of the abandoned brigadeiros resting upon the counter and offers a tiny grin: "Hand me one?"

Marc groans slightly in his throat, not desiring to abandon their embrace, but tugs up his jeans loosely around his hips and seeks out a paper towel. A snort echoes from the counter and he glances back at him, curiously canting his head. "What?"

Instead of forming a response, however, the brunet licks at his palm and fingers, effectively ridding them of the remaining chocolate and clouded substance. He notes the way Marc fidgets slightly, one hand adjusting his jeans while his Adam's apple bobs visually. "Better?"

Marc doesn't speak and instead nods weakly as he takes one of the small chocolate from the muffin cup and presses it against Rafinha's lips, "Open." he says simply and the brunet is more than happy to oblige. 

The moan that fills his ears is even more filthy than before and he finds himself scowling at the Brazilian who only winks in response. He glides the pad of his thumb along the latter's lower lip, Rafa parting his lips to allow it entry, his breath hitching when the Brazilian sucks at the chocolate that had gathered there before releasing the digit.

"Round Two?"

"Only if it takes place in the shower?"

" _Deal_."

**Author's Note:**

>  **(1)** That bastard.  
>  **(2)** My granny's.  
>  **(3)** Shit!  
>  **(4)** Little shit  
>  **(5)** Understand?  
>  **(6)** My love  
>  **(7)** Hurts so good..  
>  **(8)** Be good, kitten.  
>  **(9)** All mine. Let me show you.  
>  **(10)** Look at me.  
>  **(11)** Look.  
>  **(12)** Almost there.


End file.
